


Across Time and Space and a Movie Set

by MaxWrite



Series: Hockey Night in Canada and Everything After [4]
Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Mission: Impossible (Movies) RPF, Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol RPF, Mission: Impossible RPF
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M, RPF, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:55:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom and Simon exchange some intimate words in front of their coworkers on the set of MI4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Across Time and Space and a Movie Set

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place between _Dot, Dot, Dot, Dot, Dot_ ([AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/362449)|[DW](http://bloodywellwrite.dreamwidth.org/46687.html)) and _Phantom Limb_ ([AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/530862)|[DW](http://bloodywellwrite.dreamwidth.org/47827.html)).
> 
> It also belongs to my "Kink Bingo 2012/2013" series, but is not listed there because I can't add it to multiple series. Kink featured: phone sex/epistolary.

> _"You alone?"_

> _"No. In hair and makeup."_

> _"I guess I can't text anything dirty lest someone look over your shoulder. Poor Heather would be traumatised."_

> _"Simon. My answer to you texting me dirty things will always be yes. You know that."_

Tom grins as he sends this last text to Simon and waits for a response. It wasn't so long ago that Simon was extremely reticent about messing around at work, about being with Tom at all. There are still days when he needs Tom to coax him over the edge. Tom suspects that's exactly what Simon wants at times, a little coaxing, an excuse to jump. But then there are days like this, when he throws caution to the wind and jumps on his own.

Tom's phone beeps; another text, which reads:

> _"What if you get a stiffy?"_

> _"I'll risk it. What are you doing rn?"_

> _"Changing. *wiggles eyebrows*"_

Tom glances around the room from his makeup chair. Heather, the woman responsible for touching him up, is off in a corner having lunch. Jeremy is there too, in the chair next to Tom. His chair is slightly reclined and he has a magazine open and draped over his face. Light snoring emanates from beneath the latest issue of _Cosmopolitan_.

Tom goes back to his texting:

> _"Go on."_

> _"Just took off my shirt and tie. Now I'm unbuckling my belt."_

Tom knows Simon isn't actually undressing. He's lounging somewhere, fully clothed, with his assistant close by, but his last text has the desired effect anyway. Tom pictures the fingers he's come to know so well unfastening a belt, pinching the leather and delicately pulling the end free which then flops forward and hangs over Simon's groin, bringing Tom's focus there.

Tom texts back:

> _"Nice and slow."_

> _"I'm… pulling… my… belt… out… of… its… buckle…"_

> _"That's not what I meant."_

> ;)

> _"Simon I'm dying here."_

> _"Ok ok. Now I'm slowly sliding the belt out of the belt loops."_

> _"Do a little hip swivel for me."_

> _"What like Elvis?"_

> _"NO not like Elvis. Like you know. A stripper. Sensual."_

Tom imagines Simon is smirking now, but Simon plays along, texting back:

> _"I'm pulling my belt free and slowly rolling my hips around from the front to the left, arching my back as they they move that way and then bringing them back round to the right as the belt comes free."_

Tom takes a moment to picture that and wonders if Simon is coordinated enough to do an actual striptease. He isn't sure, but it might be fun to find out. He makes a mental note to bring it up later that night when they're alone. He then responds:

> _"Now drop the belt."_

> _"Dropped. I've unfastened my trouser button and now I'm pulling the zipper down over a very obvious bulge."_

"Fuck me," Tom says aloud before he can stop himself. He nearly curses again when he realizes his mistake. His head swivels around so he can check on Heather. She's glanced up from her plastic container of salad and is eying Tom from beneath her black bangs, with her heavily made-up eyes like a judgy raccoon. Tom gives her an awkward smile and mouths a quick "sorry" at her before going back to his conversation. He types:

> _"Describe it to me."_

> _"You can see the outline of my cock inside my underwear. It's pointed up and to the left and there's a little wet spot of precome on the fabric where the head sits."_

> _"Touch yourself."_

> _"I'm cupping myself, rubbing up and down, squeezing."_

> _"How does it feel?"_

> _"Rock hard and so hot."_

Tom resists the urge to groan. He can practically feel Simon against his own palm. He replies:

> _"Take it out."_

> _"I'm pushing my waistband down. The head is peeking out now."_

> _"Is it still leaking?"_

> _"Yes. I've slipped my hand down inside my pants and I'm squeezing and stroking myself and there's more precome. A little drop has leaked out and is slowly running down."_

Tom shifts in his seat. He's dangerously close to getting that stiffy. He glances longingly at Jeremy's face magazine. It would be perfect to lay across his groin and hide his worsening condition, but it's too far to reach. He looks to the makeup counter in front of him; nothing there of any use. He can't get up now to go find something. He glances down at himself. No, it's far too late for getting up. Shit.

Simon texts again:

> _"I'm touching it, smearing it around. It's on my fingertip. I'm bringing it to my mouth to taste myself."_

They should stop texting now so Tom can recover, but the recklessness in him wins out. He replies:

> _"Wish I could taste you right now too."_

> _"I'm sure I can make more for you. When we're together and you're touching me I'll make you plenty more."_

> _"Will you feed it to me the same way, with your fingers?"_

> _"Any way you want, with my fingers, straight from my cock…"_

"Jesus," Tom mutters.

Suddenly Jeremy snorts and utters a confused, "Mom? What?" He raises his head and catches the magazine against his stomach when it slides off his face and down his chest. He looks blearily at Tom. "How long was I out?"

"I don't know. Fifteen minutes?"

Jeremy grunts an acknowledgment and sits up a bit straighter. He gets as much sleep sometimes as Tom does, which is to say not much at all. He arches, stretches. Tom hears his joints crack.

"Hey, you done with that?" Tom asks, pointing to the magazine.

"Yeah. Think I've got all the tips I need for a bikini-ready body." He hands the magazine over. "What do you need it for? You don't actually read that garbage, do you?"

"No, just…" Tom doesn't know what to say. He furrows his brow at Jeremy as he takes the magazine, then he sits there debating whether to lie to him or not. Finally, with a roll of his eyes, he slaps the magazine down over his crotch. "Don't say it," he warns.

"Ohhhhh," Jeremy says with a knowing grin.

"I said don't say it." Tom jerks his head toward Heather in the corner. They both glance her way. She feels their eyes and looks at them.

"Did I do something?" she asks. She actually looks worried now. She's young, mid-twenties. This isn't her first gig, but working on a picture this big is certainly new to her. She's probably very worried about screwing up.

"No, no, you're fine," Tom assures her with a reassuring smile. "I hate to ask, but could we have a moment alone? Just for a minute or two."

"Sure," she says with a shrug. She takes her now empty salad container and leaves the trailer.

Tom instantly turns back to Jeremy, who is still smirking, and says, "Shut up."

"Sexting in the work place? Never woulda pegged you as the type. Wait, do the kids still say that? Sexting?"

"Shoulda asked Heather before I kicked her out."

Jeremy eyes Tom sidelong. "What're you gonna do until your, um, little problem goes away?"

"I hadn't actually thought that far ahead," Tom admits.

Jeremy smirks again. "Think you can sit there with a women's magazine on your lap for the next twenty minutes without drawing attention?"

"I've done stranger things."

Simon texts again:

> _"Sorry had to stop for a sec. Paula got too close. Where were we?"_

"Oh, there it is," Jeremy says. "Is this the money shot? Should I step out for a minute?"

"You're having way too much fun with this," Tom warns as he thumbs in a reply to Simon:

> _"Gotta stop anyway. Jeremy's here."_

> _"It's for the best I suppose but um… I've got a bit of a situation here."_

> _"Same. Mine's covered with a magazine."_

> _"Sweatshirt for me. M T 10?"_

"M T 10" stands for "my trailer in ten minutes". It's part of their shorthand, something they've developed to communicate with each other in situations when texting would be rude. A short text can be sent under the guise of shutting off a phone's ringer.

Of course, it's nowhere near as romantic as Tom would like most of the time, setting up make-out sessions with abbreviations via text message, and the shorter the shorthand, the less romantic it feels. But it serves the purpose, earns him a few stolen moments with Simon. He keeps reminding himself it's not always about details.

He glances at the wall clock. It doesn't take long to get to Simon's trailer from the makeup trailer, so he shouldn't leave just yet. But he doesn't think he can sit here waiting for another ten minutes either, with a magazine over his erection and Heather sure to come back any minute. He replies:

> _"Make it 5."_

> _"Ok. See you soon. x"_

"You two," Jeremy says.

Tom looks over at him. "What?"

"You were smiling just now. What, did he say something funny?"

"No…" Tom trails off because the reason for his smile sounds silly, even in his head. But Jeremy's the only person Tom can actually talk to about this thing with Simon, and while Jeremy likes to poke fun, he doesn't judge. Tom sucks it up and replies, "He signed his text with a little 'x'. You know, for 'kisses'."

Jeremy grins. "That's adorable."

"Shut up," Tom repeats, this time with a smile on his face.

"You're about to go have a nooner, aren't you?"

"Is it noon already?"

"Not quite, but given how long we've been awake, it might as well be." Jeremy yawns, stretches some more, then puts his head back and shuts his eyes. "Wake me when it's time to kick some stunt guy's ass, okay?"

Tom should be resting himself. Unfortunately, there's at least one part of his body that's in no mood for rest.

His phone beeps again:

> _"Abort."_

More shorthand. Simon must have run into a delay of some kind.

Tom slumps down in his seat and sighs. He lifts his magazine, peeks underneath it and says, "Sorry, buddy. Maybe some other time."

"Hmph?" Jeremy grunts.

"Not you."

The trailer door opens and Heather pokes her head in uncertainly.

"It's okay," he assures her, looking over his shoulder at her and gesturing her back inside. He then turns away to stare blankly at the mirror before him while she goes back to her corner.

Fifteen uncomfortable minutes later he gets another message:

> _"Sorry got called away. I'm free now but my situation is no longer a situation."_

Tom doesn't have to check beneath his magazine to know he's out of danger too. He replies:

> _"Same. Meet up anyway?"_

> _"Yes. Now?"_

> _"Now."_

Tom gets up and drops the magazine on the chair. He's about to step away when bold, turquoise letters, stamped across Salma Hayek's hip, yell at him from the magazine's cover: **"Put the ROMANCE Back in Your RELATIONSHIP."** He exits the trailer with those words on his mind.

Out on the sunny movie studio lot he sees Simon coming out of another trailer a few trailers down. Simon's changed into his outfit for the train car scene – cargo pants, a graphic tee, boots. The cardigan that goes with the outfit is missing; too warm out to be wearing it. All the better to admire him, Tom thinks. Simon's tattoos haven't been covered with makeup today. They'll be covered by the cardigan for the scene, so they're on full display; the row of stars going up his inner left forearm, the letter M, for his dog Minnie, on his inner right wrist. Tom imagines the two of them naked and lounging in bed together, him planting kisses on each tattoo. He loves doing that, worshiping the little symbols that Simon has chosen to permanently etch into his skin. It's like a ritual for him. He would have done it now had they had the chance to meet up in Simon's trailer, but something about that is now troubling Tom. Even as the sun hits Simon's golden blond head and makes him sort of glow, Tom is distracted.

"Sorry about the abort," Simon says as they come to a stop before each other. "Had to change. They should be calling you into wardrobe soon, I think."

"I imagine so."

Simon cocks his head. "You look bothered."

"Yeah… we gotta be careful. You know? About this, doing this at work."

Simon's eyebrows go up. "Whoa, I'm sorry, who are you again? I don't think we've met."

"Simon –"

"Are you the same guy who had eleventy bajillion red roses sent to my trailer that one time?"

"Yes, Simon."

"The same one who wanted to shag in his trailer whilst Jeremy knocked on the door outside?"

" _Yes,_ Simon, I know, I've been reckless in the past, but I just had to…" Tom pauses, glances around, checking for other people. Seeing no one, he steps closer so he can lower his voice. "I just had cover my erection with a magazine while Heather was in the room. And you were in the same boat with Paula, and then you got called to wardrobe like that? That's not okay."

Simon drops his gaze and nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."

He looks so guilty now that Tom instinctively reaches out to comfort him. He places a hand on Simon's upper arm and says, "It's not your fault. We've done it before, lots of times, and I usually initiate. I'm just saying I realize now that we should probably be a little more careful."

Simon crosses his arms. "You really don't listen when people tell you things, do you?"

"I know you've told me the same thing a thousand times and I keep pushing and wearing you down and I'm sorry. Let's just appreciate the fact that we're on the same page now, okay? Can we do that?"

Simon nods, though he still looks annoyed. Tom squeezes his arm and lets go.

"It's more than just a lack of professionalism that's bugging me," Tom continues. He pulls his phone out and holds it up. "You're worth more than this. You know?"

Simon cants his head. "I'm worth more than an iPhone?"

"You're worth more than dirty text messages is what I mean. It feels cheap, planning our time together with text speak. That's not romance, that's a booty call."

Simon shrugs. "Nothing wrong with a booty call now and then."

"It's everyday with us. This _is_ our relationship. Most days this is all the lovemaking we have time for."

"Well, what else do we do? We're both busy. We fucking work together and there's _still_ barely any time to just be with one another. At the end of the day, we go back to your place – hopefully together if you actually get out of here at the same time as me, which nearly never happens – and we're both too tired to do much more than pass out. That" –Simon points at Tom's phone, which is now down at Tom's side– "is what you get in a 21st century relationship. There isn't time for romance. And we're the lucky ones! Our lives actually intercept during the day and we _still_ need to abbreviate our messages. What do you suppose it's like for everyone else?" He sighs, uncrosses his arms and shoves his hands in his pockets. "It's not always about epic romance, Tom. Sometimes it's just about finding the quiet spaces in between the chaos, you know? And if that means scheduling booty calls with text speak on a smart phone, then I'll take it. What's the alternative?"

Tom supposes Simon has a point, but he's still not appeased. He glances around again. This is one of those times, one of the quiet spaces in between when they can just be in each other's presence. And Tom's spent much of it griping.

He looks at Simon, really looks at him, takes him in, because any moment now one of them will be taken away, and when they meet up again they'll be surrounded by people. He lets his expression soften so Simon knows he's not upset. Simon seems to get the hint; he smiles and looks down sheepishly. He knows Tom is admiring him, and as much as that makes him want to fidget he allows it. In fact, he looks up again and does the same, looks at Tom, just takes him in too.

Tom is still wearing 'Ethan's' prison outfit; dark gray pants and a white tank top. Since his muscles are already on display he flexes for Simon's amusement. His arms down at his sides, he flexes his pecs, one side and then the other, over and over in quick succession, with a smirk on his lips. He is rewarded with Simon's adorable giggle face.

Tom can see the stars on Simon's forearm and once again can't help but picture brushing his lips against them. But there's no time to sneak into Simon's trailer now. They don't know when Tom will be needed in wardrobe. They might as well go their separate ways. But Tom feels oddly like there's something he should say. He hates leaving things unsaid.

He casts about again, checking if anyone's watching. He doesn't see anyone who looks particularly nosy, but this doesn't feel like the time or place to say what he wants to say. It's too public. So rather than say anything, Tom reaches out and presses a fingertip to the smallest of Simon's stars, the one closest to the wrist, and draws an 'x' over top of it, like the 'x' in Simon's text.

Simon watches that, then meets Tom's eyes. He doesn't look confused, but Tom asks anyway, "Get it?"

Simon smiles and nods. His smile is soft, warm. He looks touched.

Tom wants to reach out again, just once more, but the sound of an approaching vehicle stops him. A golf cart pulls up next to them with a dark-haired, bespectacled woman at the wheel. Her hair is up in a messy bun, held together by what seems to be a pencil. She's wearing jeans, a simple white tee, and a floral silk scarf draped around her neck. On her lap is a clipboard stacked with papers, and a phone.

She gives Tom a smile and wave, then looks expectantly at Simon. "Brad wants you." she says. She pats the seat next to her like an impatient mother.

"Coming, Claire," Simon says. He looks to Tom again, looking like there's something he wants to say too, but he can't with Claire right there. He shuffles his feet as he raises a hand to his face to scratch his cheek. The hand blocks his mouth from Claire's vantage point and Tom thinks Simon's about to attempt to mouth something at him. But instead, while Claire's attention is diverted to her papers, Simon kisses two of his fingertips, index and middle side by side, and then holds those fingers up to face Tom as though directing the kisses at him.

The entire gesture lasts barely a second and Simon doesn't wait for a reply. He turns and hurries around to the passenger's side of the golf cart and off he goes, his assistant whisking him away to some distant part of the lot. Tom watches them drive off, and when Simon hazards a longing glance over his shoulder, Tom makes the same two-fingered gesture back at him. And he doesn't care who might see.

He heads back to the hair and makeup trailer. He feels pretty good, he supposes. He and Simon seem to want to same things more and more as the weeks pass. But something's still off. He should have said it just now, the thing he'd wanted to say. When you feel it, you say it. He won't get the chance again for hours. He could kick himself.

He goes back inside where Jeremy is still asleep. Heather is gone. Tom didn't notice her leave the trailer and he wonders when exactly she did. What did she see when she glanced at Tom and Simon standing together, just two friends or two lovers trying to look like just two friends?

Fatigue is setting in. Tom can't put off resting any longer. He drops gratefully into his chair and puts his head back, but as soon as his phone beeps he's alert again. He yanks it out, just knowing it's Simon again, and he's right. The message is simple:

> _"I love you."_

It's not an 'x'. It's not shorthand. It's just the words. Simply the words. It's hardly ideal, saying it for the first time ever in a text message. But it makes Tom's tummy flutter anyway, makes him smile and touch the screen as though trying to feel the words with his fingertip.

What if Simon had said it in a handwritten letter? Some would consider that even more romantic than a face-to-face confession, because of distance, because of the effort of penning a letter by hand and the time required to reach its destination. But is a text so much worse? The logical part of Tom feels like it is. But maybe that's his own hangup. Maybe it doesn't have to be.

He smiles to himself because this is where Simon would make a joke about clumsy fingers on tiny touchscreen keyboards requiring far more effort than just writing something down with a pen. Tom can hear Simon's voice in his head: _"If it's the effort you want, this is about as romantic as it gets, innit? Just hitting the right letters is a struggle, and don't get me started on autocorrect."_

Tom thinks about messages sent across time and space, beautiful handwritten notes from soldiers at war or young lovers away at separate schools. Simon is just across the lot, far enough for a golf cart ride, but not for a letter. Still, it felt like Claire was taking him a million miles away as she'd driven off with him.

Tom supposes that's what happens when you don't say what you need to when you have the chance. The distance feels further because you know you might not have the chance again. The words connect you, they make people feel not so far away anymore. Simon must have felt that too. He'd felt it strongly enough that he'd needed to remedy the situation immediately, in what some might argue is the least romantic way possible.

But it _wasn't_ unromantic. It's one of the most romantic things that's ever happened to Tom. Maybe he just needs to get with the times. 21st century love letters don't need to mean less than their predecessors. Especially not when words on a screen can make a grown man's inside fill up with happy butterflies.

Still, he won't be able to take this out of a shoebox years down the line and feel the imperfections in the paper, the indentations where a pen has pressed too hard, see the way time has turned the white page to soft sepia. It's seeing, feeling and even smelling a time and place and emotion within a message, it's the physicality of it that this medium lacks.

And Simon's handwriting. It's not written in Simon's handwriting.

 _It's not about the details,_ Tom tells himself. _It's about that feeling in your stomach right now, the way those words make you feel. You'll remember that._

He sends a reply:

> _"I love you too."_

Seeing the words written out, this time by his own fingers, makes his tummy flutter again. He saves Simon's "I love you" in his phone, knowing he'll want to look at it again and again. It doesn't feel terribly permanent. None of the ways in which he can save and backup the message feels permanent, and that's the main problem he has with this medium. One day, probably soon, he'll get a new phone, and one day this one's battery will die and he might not bother replacing it, and one day the entire thing will stop working for some unknown reason and Simon's first true love confession will be lost forever.

Simon replies to him:

> _xxx_

Kiss, kiss, kiss. Tom smiles at that. Simon texts again:

> _"I wasn't being romantic just now. That's what tonight is going to be rated."_

> _"You're insufferable, you know."_

> _"Ah but you love me. Can't take it back now."_

> _"Yes I love you. And yes tonight will be very x rated."_

> ;D

> _"And I promise not to fall asleep on you this time."_

> _"Same. x"_

Tom gets an idea. He goes back to Simon's "I love you", takes a screen capture, saves it to his camera. He imagines Simon making a face and asking what the hell he's doing later on at home when Tom is printing out a copy of the image with good old ink and paper. Tom can get behind 21st century love letters, but not without a safety net. What can he say? He's an old-fashioned kind of guy.

END


End file.
